


A Man of Action

by WhipYourPorsche



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Dutch Being Kind of an Asshole, No Romance, Outlaws, Prequel, Protective Hosea Matthews, RDR2, Young Arthur Morgan, dad hosea, drama (sort of), van der linde gang - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24378490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhipYourPorsche/pseuds/WhipYourPorsche
Summary: Inspired by a small exchange I had with Dutch after staying in camp for a day, but it goes a little differently and it happens way before the main story.“What is wrong with you Arthur?”“How do you mean?”“You’re hanging around in camp, like a bad smell. You used to be a man of action!”
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

After having spent days outside of camp, hunting, running errands for everyone and trying to find homesteads, stage coaches, or even stores to rob, Arthur finally came back one late morning and figured he’d rest there for the day and leave again in the following morning. When he reached the camp, he dismounted from his stallion, hitched it, and brushed it before heading to the food wagon to drop what he had hunted, and then to the other members of the gang to give them what each of them had asked for. Afterwards he headed towards his own tent, put his satchel down on the ground, and sat on his cot. He had only been sitting for a couple of minutes when Hosea, the closest thing he had to a father, was at the entrance of his tent, smiling.

“Hello Arthur.”

“Mornin Hosea.”

“I was starting to get worried about you. You’ve been gone for days.”

“Well I’m back now. Been out west, hunting, running errands and scouting.”

“That’s a lot of work… What were you scouting for?”

“You know, people and places to rob, the usual.”

 _Hosea smiled_ “That’s good, son. I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.” _He smiled back at him_

“Rest now, you’ve earned it.”

“Sure, I’ll catch you later then.”

“Okay.”

On these words, Hosea left and Arthur lay down for a while, closing his eyes, resting his hat on his stomach. He was nearly asleep when Uncle started yelling in annoyance, complaining about the food not being ready yet and begging Javier and Hosea to work faster. Arthur sighed and pondered on whether or not he should get up to help Javier and Hosea prepare the meal. On one hand, pretending to be asleep and only getting up later to eat was appealing, but on the other hand, the last time he had let these two take care of a meal alone, everyone had had a stomach ache for hours afterwards. So he sighed and reluctantly got up, put on his hat, and headed towards his surrogate father, greeting Uncle and Dutch on his way.

“Hello Arthur.” _Said Javier when he reached them_

“Hey Javier.”

“Son,” _Hosea seemed surprised_ “I thought you were resting.”

“Yeah well how can I do that with Uncle’s endless yapping.”

 _He chuckled_ “True enough. Well, three pairs of hands are always better than two.”

“Especially when you and Javier are the two.”

Both men laughed in agreement and together they prepared the food, cooking the meat that Arthur had brought back to camp earlier. About 30 minutes later they were done and all of them enjoyed the meal greatly, their leader Dutch telling them for the hundredth time that they needed money to get themselves out of this state, him and Hosea being wanted by the law around here. After the meal, Javier and Uncle took care of the washing up as Arthur sat down with Hosea, sharing a couple of cigarettes as he told him all about the animals and landscapes he’d seen during those past few days, his “father” listening attentively, seemingly very interested in what he had discovered. The afternoon went by quickly, and Arthur took advantage of the last light of the day to sit down against a tree and write in the journal Hosea had gifted him for his latest birthday. Once the sun had almost fully set and he could barely see what he was writing, he stopped and got up, heading towards the fire that had just been lit, Javier already settling down with his guitar. A good evening was in perspective, but Dutch ruined it, as he often did. Just as Arthur was walking towards the fire, his leader stopped him with a question.

“What is wrong with you Arthur?”

The younger man frowned and turned to Dutch, confused.

“How do you mean?”

“You’re hanging around in camp, like a bad smell. You used to be a man of action!”

Arthur couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was dumbstruck for a moment, but soon got a hold of himself and talked back, angry.

“The hell did you just say to me?!”

Dutch started walking towards him, putting on his threatening face.

“You heard me, boy. Now get out there, and make us some goddamn money if you know what’s good for you.”

Arthur stood his ground, feeling anger boiling inside of him.

“And what if I don’t? What then, Dutch?!” _He yelled despite himself_

Hosea had not heard the beginning of the conversation but quickly intervened when he heard his son yell. He stood in-between the two men and placed a hand on Arthur’s chest.

“Calm down son.” _He asked calmly_

“No Hosea! I won’t fucking calm down!”

“Listen to your father, Arthur! Calm down and go make yourself useful!”

“Dutch, stop!” _Hosea exclaimed, trying to defuse the situation_

“Make myself useful?!” _Arthur yelled, looking at Dutch over his father’s shoulder_ “Hosea and I are the only ones working in this goddamn camp! He’s taking care of things here and I’m out there hunting, scouting, even doing everyone’s dirty work for them while they’re sitting on their asses drinking all day and I don’t see you yelling at them for it! Screw you Dutch, screw you and your goddamn plan! The lawmen can get you for all I care! Now you’d better be happy because the bad smell’s leaving!”

He freed himself form Hosea’s grasp, shoving his hand off, and walked away before the man with the plan could talk back to him. Hosea followed his son as he headed back to his tent, grabbed his satchel, and walked towards his horse. He tried to talk to him, to say that Dutch didn’t really mean it like that, but Arthur ignored him, knowing it was just a poor attempt at getting him to _calm down and think about this._ He only mounted his horse and left, unreceptive to his father’s pleas.  
Hosea watched his son ride out, his heart heavy with worry and sadness. He turned to Dutch and walked towards him, those feelings quickly changing to anger and spite.

“I hope you’re happy, you imbecile!”

“Don’t you start Hosea! He is **your** son! I was kind enough to agree to take him in so he’d better pay me back by making himself useful!”

“Can you even hear yourself?! Do you not realise how much he’s done for you?! He is 22 years old, and in the past week he’s been more useful than Javier and Uncle together in the last two months!”

“Hey!” _Exclaimed Uncle_

“Oh don’t deny it you lazy bastard!” _He walked towards Dutch._ “Now I promise you this Dutch, if **anything** happens to my son while he’s out there risking his neck for you, **anything**! I will **not** forgive and forget like I always do!”

Hosea refrained himself from slapping or punching Dutch and went back to his own tent, outraged in addition to being worried and angry.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur rode out of camp, his mouth hurting from grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw out of spite and anger. When he finally reached the closest town, he hitched his horse at the saloon, and walked in, heading straight to the bar, ignoring the few ladies proposing their services to him.

“Whiskey.” _He ordered dryly_

“Sure thing, boy.”

“I ain’t no boy.”

“Alright partner. That’s 50 cents.”

“A bottle.”

“That makes it 15 dollars then.”

Arthur gave him what he had asked for, took the bottle, and drank straight from the neck. He stopped after only a few sips and coughed, nearly spitting everything out, never having drank whiskey before. He had shared quite a few bottles of wine or beer with Dutch and Hosea, but never anything as strong as this. The amber liquid was burning his throat but he liked the ache so he ignored it and kept on drinking, seeking the release of getting drunk. He had **really** gotten drunk only one time before, and from what he remembered it had been a fun experience overall, apart from the headache and vomiting in the morning... _To hell with the consequences_ , he told himself. _And screw Dutch,_ he added as he drank once more. _Not a man of action anymore my ass! I’m doing everything around this goddamn camp! Ungrateful piece of shit!_ He nearly smashed the bottle on the floor before remembering he had just paid 15 dollars for it and that it was still more or less full. He sat down alone at a random table and kept on drinking, getting into some fights throughout the night, but only drinking more afterwards. He decided to stop when his vision became blurry, exited the saloon and crossed the street – almost tripping over himself twice – to get to the hotel. He blurted out something that sounded like “room to sleep for the night” at the clerk and slapped two 50 cents coins on the counter. The man helped him get up the stairs and to an available room, Arthur thanking him as coherently as he could before crashing on the bed and falling asleep within seconds.

When he woke up the next morning, he felt as if a hundred horses had trampled on his head and thought _well done Arthur, you dumbass._ He rolled on his back and was tempted to simply close his eyes and sleep some more but he fought the urge. He got up, groaning, and flung the window open to breathe in the fresh morning air. He saw his horse still hitched in front of the saloon and was grateful for it, then closed his eyes and calmed down for a few moments, trying his hardest not to throw up. Once he opened his eyes again he looked at the clock over the sheriff’s office and saw it show 7:30 so he decided it was time to leave and actually do some work, to show that idiot that he was still a man of action. He walked down the stairs, thanked the clerk for his assistance, and went to the town’s general store to get a few things to eat and drink – without forgetting some oatcakes for his horse – glad to find out he hadn’t spent all his money on drinks the night before. As soon as he stepped outside he lit up a cigarette, went to his stallion, and fed him an oatcake before mounting him and heading west, to the places he had scouted those past few days. And despite all his efforts – singing, trying to identify each type of plants he was seeing, petting and talking to his horse –, his mind went back to what had happened the day before… He still couldn’t believe that Dutch had said that, and it hurt his pride – and feelings – more than he cared to admit. Although Hosea was his surrogate father, he had started to view Dutch as a father figure as well over the years, to look up to him, to want to make him proud. But right now he felt as if all the work he had put in over the past 8 years he had been with the gang meant nothing to Dutch, and all just because he had stayed in camp for not even a day. _Come on Arthur stop,_ he told himself, _focus on what you’re gonna rob._ He had a few choices, and picked the few homesteads he had found slightly further south-west, which didn’t seem especially well-guarded. So for a couple of days he rode all around the state and even beyond, going from place to place, occasionally changing his clothes in order not to be recognised, and he ended up with 800 dollars in his satchel by sunrise on the 3rd day. As the day was only just beginning, he started riding back to camp, a smirk on his face, looking forward to seeing the expression on Dutch’s face when he would slam 800 dollars on his lap. He was humming as he was riding through the mountains but suddenly stopped dead in his tracks, when he heard some noise around the bushes. He pulled on his horse’s reins and shushed him, petting the side on his neck, his eyes darting from left to right. Quickly, he took out his Schofield Revolver and kept on observing his surroundings carefully, until a man stepped out of a bush in front of him, a rifle in his hands, pointed at the ground. Arthur immediately aimed his revolver at him, and the man raised his hands defensively.

“Calm down friend, I don’t mean you no harm.”

As the man put his rifle over his shoulder and out of immediate reach, Arthur nodded and holstered his gun, but only a few seconds later he received a hard blow to the back of the head, making him fall off his horse and into the dirt. His stallion bucked and ran off, leaving Arthur alone and almost defenseless. As many men surrounded him, laughing, he got up and raised his fists in a defensive stance, momentarily forgetting he had guns and going back to his fist fighter instincts, making them laugh even more.

“Colm’s waiting for us and he’s outnumbered, let’s just rob him and be done with it.” _One man proposed in a heavy Irish accent, and the others seemed to agree_

“Hold on a minute…” _Another man intervened_ “I know that boy…”

“You do?”

“Bloody hell, he’s Matthews’ son… One of Dutch’s boys!”

Arthur quickly understood that they were enemies of Dutch, but before he had time to pick a direction and run, a rope was thrown around him and he was flung to the ground. Once he had hit the dirt once more, the men hogtied him tightly, hurting his wrists and ankles in the process but seemingly not caring. He tried to kick, punch, and even bite, but being one against five, Arthur was quickly controlled and restrained.

“Well won’t you look at that, we got ourselves a feisty one!” _One of the men exclaimed_

The other cheered and laughed, then the man who had spoken kicked Arthur in the stomach, making the latter groan. The others soon joined in, punching and kicking him until he was weak and bloody.

“Colm sure is gonna like that.”

“Yeah, let’s bring him along to camp.”

The man who seemed to be their leader approached Arthur, whispered _“Sweet dreams pretty boy”_ and hit him in the head with the butt of his rifle.

When Arthur opened his eyes again, his head was throbbing and his throat was so dry that he felt as if he hadn’t drunk in weeks. Nevertheless, he sat up as well as he could with his restrains and looked around, groaning as silently as possible, noticing that the sun was now at its zenith. As he was trying to figure out where he was, he recognized the mountains to the north, where his camp was, and from there he could hazard a guess as to where he was at the moment. Now all he needed to do was get out of these ropes, grab his stuff, and run away. _Easier said than done_ , he told himself. He started looking around once more, this time searching for anything that could help him, and finally saw a sharp splinter on a nearby fallen tree. Using all the strength he had left, he made his way over there crawling like a worm, his whole body aching, and positioned his back to the tree trunk, slightly cutting his left forearm before managing to find the splinter. Once he was well-positioned, he started rubbing the rope against it, actually praying for his crappy plan to work.


	3. Chapter 3

After five long minutes of vigorously moving his wrists up and down, feeling as if his arms would detach themselves from his body momentarily, Arthur finally heard a snap and was able to move his arms freely. He sighed in relief and didn’t lose any time, untying the rope around his ankles as well as he could with bloody fingers – he had slipped on that goddamn splinter more than once. About half an interminable minute later, he was completely free and finally took the time to massage his wrists gently, listening for any noise coming from the campfire of the men who had taken him. They were all singing and one of them was playing guitar, so in other words they were too busy to notice his disappearance, and also too drunk to care judging by their singing – or maybe they were just all extremely bad singers. From what Arthur could remember, they had talked about bringing him to their leader, a certain Colt, was it? … No, Colm. They had also said something about Dutch, but he couldn’t remember what, all that he knew was that he needed to get back to his gang’s camp. But first, he needed his gun and satchel – which hopefully still contained his money –, so he got on his hands and knees to stay low and crawled around their camp discretely, all his limbs screaming for mercy at his every movement. He sucked it in, ignoring it, and kept on moving, knowing it was only a matter of time before one of these men would come check on him, or simply walk away from the campfire for whatever reason, and stumble upon him. He needed to find his weapons so that he at least had the possibility of shooting his way out if he needed too. Soon enough, he recognised his customised Schofield Revolver and his satchel simply left there on the grass, so he moved faster, holding back screams of pain once more, tears slowly forming on the corners of his eyes. Once he got to his stuff, he quickly opened his satchel and found out with astonishment that the 800 dollars he had stolen were still there. These men were either very stupid or very rich – or both –, but Arthur really didn’t care at that moment. Painfully, he wrapped his gun belt around his hips, holstered his revolver, put his satchel around his shoulder, and then kept on moving on his hands and knees, feeling blood on his palms and in between his fingers. He crossed the camp discretely to get to the northern side but stopped dead in his tracks when he noticed that his faithful stallion, his dark bay Turkoman, Thunder, was actually there, as if waiting for him. He allowed himself a small smile and then pulled himself to his feet, leaning against a crate. He was about to walk to his horse when the singing stopped and he heard the men talk.

“Edward, go check on Matthews’ son.”

“Sure thing.”

He looked over his shoulder and his eyes met those of one of his captors, the one who had tricked him in the first place. The adrenaline kicking in, Arthur found the strength to actually run to his stallion, hearing the men yell behind him. A few shots were fired but none of them found their target, and as he was mounting his horse and calming him down, he heard them speak again.

“Stop shooting!” _A commanding voice barked_

“What?! Why?!”

“Let him run back to Dutch, get him and Matthews angry, and make them see that the O’Driscolls ain’t afraid of war!”

Arthur pushed his horse forward, purposely heading west instead of north, so that if someone were to follow him, he’d have time to lose him before actually heading back to camp. Once he was sure no one was on his trail, he headed north, to the mountains, the adrenaline leaving and getting him to once again feel all of his injuries. As he was alone, he actually let out a cry of pain and stopped clutching the reins for a while, giving his wounded hands a rest. He wiped away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks with the back of his hands and noticed his face was covered in blood as well. He urged his horse to go faster, and held on to him as well as he could until he finally reached camp, just as the sun was starting to set.

“Who’s there?” _He heard Javier ask_

He took a deep breath, and barely even recognised the hoarse and weak voice that came out of his own mouth.

“Arthur.”

“You alright, _chico_?”

“No Javier, I ain’t…”

Once he reached the hitching post he normally left Thunder at, he tried to get off but ended up collapsing on the ground, groaning, and soon enough a familiar face was over his own.

“Oh my god, Arthur!”

Hosea helped him up to his feet, completely panicked, and Arthur cried out, only making his surrogate father more worried. The older man held him gently, keeping him steady, and when he saw Dutch approaching them, he looked at him with dark eyes and spoke in a tone so cold that it surprised everyone.

“If you take one more step towards my son, you will regret it, Dutch.”

The leader took a few steps back, holding his hands up in a defensive way. But Arthur gently pushed Hosea off and walked towards Dutch, opening his satchel at the same time. Once he was close enough for Dutch to smell the blood and sweat off of him, the young man slammed the 800 dollars against his leader’s chest, hard, almost making him gasp for air.

“Here’s your goddamn money, princess. How’s that for a man of action?”

The sound of his voice startled Dutch who just stood there, dumbstruck, as Hosea walked back towards Arthur and grabbed his shoulders gently.

“Try not to talk too much, alright?”

Arthur nodded and Hosea led him to his own tent while Dutch just stood there with the money in his arms, watching them and feeling guilty. Once Arthur was settled as comfortably as possible onto his cot, Hosea put his satchel and gun belt aside, then started undressing him gently to check his wounds, with Javier’s help. Uncle arrived a minute later with all the medical supplies they had in camp and Hosea sighed, then started yelling.

“This isn’t enough! There’s not much I can do with that!”

“Settle down Hosea,” _Javier said calmly_ “I’ll go into town, get some medicine, bandages, everything, alright? You try to make do with what we have for now.”

_Hosea nodded_ “Alright, alright, thank you.”

Javier nodded as well and ran out of the tent and to his horse. Hosea kept on inspecting Arthur’s wounds, the young man nearly screaming in pain each time he was touching one. He suddenly grabbed Hosea's wrist and pushed him away.

“Stop, stop!” _Tears were at the corner of his eyes once more as he begged him_ “Ple-ease just stop touching me!”

Hosea’s heart broke at the sight and sound of Arthur being so hurt, but he fought back tears himself, freed his wrist from the younger man’s weak grasp gently, without any difficulty, and placed a hand on his cheek which wasn’t injured.

“I’m sorry Arthur but we have to heal you or we might lose you, alright?”

“It just... It hurts so goddamn much!”

“I know son, I know.”

Arthur managed to take a deep breath and stay silent and still as Hosea inspected his wounds again, then proceeded to clean them as well as he could. He held on for a while, but soon his vision started to blur, and he barely heard Hosea beg him to stay awake before he lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of the horse is made up btw, I used the one I gave to my Turkoman in my gameplay.


	4. Chapter 4

When he woke, Arthur was immediately in a world of pain, and would have cried out if it wasn’t for the unbearable dryness in his throat. He opened his eyes and was quick – and relieved – to understand he was in Hosea’s tent, on his cot. He looked to his right and saw his surrogate father sat on a chair next to him, a hand over his own. He turned it palm up and gave Hosea’s hand a gently squeeze, enough to wake him up but not hurt his own hand any more than it was. The older man woke up slowly, and exclaimed as soon as he was fully conscious.

“Arthur!”

He got off of the chair and onto his knees right next to the cot.

“How are you feeling, son?”

“I ain’t well…” _He spoke hoarsely_

“Here, take this.”

He gave him a small bottle which Arthur seized and looked at, frowning.

“What is it?”

“A health cure. It’ll help you get better.”

“Thanks.”

Without anther word, he drank all of it, the liquid burning his throat but easing the pain at the same time. After a few seconds he gave the empty bottle back to Hosea and nodded as another thank you. The older man put the bottle away and put his hand over Arthur’s once more.

“What happened yesterday evening?” _The young man inquired_

“Well, as you know, I tried to heal you with what we had but I couldn’t, so Javier went to town and bought medicine and bandages, came back about 30 minutes later. Since you had passed out I was… too panicked to be of any use, so I let Javier handle it all. Dutch tried to help but I sent him to hell, and then somehow Uncle managed to calm me down… Apparently he’s had similar wounds and it left nothing other than scars and pain.”

“Good to know…”

“Yeah, it is.”

Hosea offered his a sweet smile which he returned weakly. Even though the older man was smiling, Arthur could easily see he was still worried – whether it be about what had happened, what would become of Arthur’s wounds, or both, he didn’t know. He wanted to try and reassure him, but Hosea spoke again.

“What happened out there?”

_He sighed_ “I got jumped…”

“What?! By who?”

“I don’t know, some men who said they knew you and Dutch.”

“Do you remember their names or anything?”

“They called themselves the… err… O’Drils, no, O’Dri something…”

“The… The O’Driscolls?”

“Yeah…”

Hosea’s tone of voice changed drastically, it became cold as much as it was worried, almost angry.

“Where you followed here?”

“No, I made sure no one was behind me.”

“Good. Very good.”

“They **that** bad?”

“Oh yes, you have no idea… I am so glad you’re alright.”

“Yeah, me too.”

_Hosea smiled again and his tone softened_ “Now rest son, you need to.”

“Right.”

He stayed there for the rest of the day, Hosea paying him visits throughout the day, Javier even coming once or twice to check up on him and try to make him laugh, which he did, and it had hurt Arthur but had also made him feel better.

The day after that, Arthur felt well enough to sit so he did, and that was when he noticed the money peeking out of his satchel. He frowned, grabbed it – not without groaning in pain – and counted it, 400 dollars.

“What the hell?” _He muttered under his breath_

At the same time Hosea came to check on him, and when Arthur shared what he had just noticed, the older man seized the boy’s satchel and angrily walked out of the tent under Arthur’s surprised glance. It wasn’t long before he heard Hosea again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” _He barked_

He heard someone get up, paper folding, and a sigh.

“Just let me speak to the boy, Hosea.”

“It was the goddamn O’Driscolls, Dutch!”

“What?!”

“You heard me! **Your** feud with Colm, got **my** son in danger! So you’d better believe that if you touch him I’ll break each one of your fingers.”

“Fair enough.”

Footsteps became louder and louder, until the tent’s flap opened and Dutch stepped in, putting Arthur’s satchel back on the ground and sitting down on the chair Hosea had more than probably spent his night on. The young man could see the fire in Dutch’s eyes, the hate, for those O’Driscolls people.

“How are you Arthur?”

“Fine, just tell me why there’s 400 dollars in my satchel.”

“It’s only gang policy, my boy. You keep half of what you earn.”

Arthur chuckled, but it quickly turned into a cough. He took a sip from the glass of water Javier had brought him earlier, then cleared his throat.

“You think lettin’ me keep half is gonna make me forget what you said?”

“I sincerely apologise for that Arthur… I was, and still am, on edge with the Pinkertons chasing me and your father, and those damn O’Driscolls… But still, I had no rights talking to you this way, I know. And yes, you are pulling much more than your weight. It was the heat of the moment, and I regret it.”

“Fine! Just… Don’t ever call me a bad smell or say I ain’t doing shit again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good… Now, what’s the deal with them O’Driscolls fellows?”

“Well hat…” _He sighed_ “That is a long story son.”

“Go on, it ain’t like I’m going anywhere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that concludes the story, I hope you enjoyed it!  
> Thanks to all of you for reading, leaving kudos and commenting, I really appreciate it :)

**Author's Note:**

> I know Arthur joined the gang when Dutch and Hosea already knew each other, but I changed it up for the story.  
> And I also know that Javier and Uncle weren't the first ones to join the gang, but I just picked two random names.


End file.
